


Marks of Hours

by goddamnitaisha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnitaisha/pseuds/goddamnitaisha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prank was played on Sephiroth and he can’t fix on his own. He visits Lazard's office to ask for help, but the Director treats him coldly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marks of Hours

General Sephiroth invited himself into his Director’s office after office hours, after overworking hours. The hour was three beyond midnight and it was absolutely mad that the director was still present. It was Tuesday no less, and his superior officer had the rest of the week to finish his work, yet Sephiroth found him pulling all-nighters already. Sephiroth put his shoulder against the wall of the entrance.   
Lazard flipped the page.  
"Working late?" Sephiroth asked.  
A shock travelled through the other’s form and his head snapped up. “Sephiroth!”   
The two men looked at each other. Then Lazard sighed, and deflated. “I did not hear you approach.”  
"Perhaps I should attach some bells to my coat," Sephiroth said.   
Lazard sent him a puzzled look, as if he couldn’t figure out if Sephiroth had been joking or not. After that moment of contemplation, he took his glasses off. He ran his white gloved hands over his face and rubbed his fingers over his closed eyes.   
Sephiroth unbuckled his coat, he grabbed the hinges of his jacket and took it off.   
The clattering of his pauldrons caused Lazard to put his glasses back on. "What are you doing?"  
Sephiroth threw the coat over the table at his left. He clicked the buckles that held the suspenders that crossed over his chest in place.  
\- “General,”  
\- “I am undressing.”  
\- “I can see that. Put your clothes back on.”  
The Hero of Wutai did not follow the order. He ripped the velcro that held the SOLDIER-logo chest pad in place. Now free of clothes from the waist up, he rolled his shoulders. He heard the other’s breath hitch, then stop, then sound laboured.   
” _Sephiroth_ ,” the Director said with a voice like a knife. The hands on his desk were clenched to fists, and then he leaned back, crossing one arm over his lap.   
Sephiroth turned around and swept his long silver hair over one shoulder. “Look.”  
Over the entire length of Sephiroth’s back, from shoulder to shoulder, from the nape his neck to the V of his buttocks, were drawings. There were stars, a drawing of an apple, text, chibi figures of familiar faces, an attempt to draw two black wings, a drawing of a dick-turned-into-a-rocket. Near the hem of his trousers was the text “I was here” with an arrow downwards following the curve of Sephiroth’s spine.   
Lazard stared.   
The SOLDIER reached back and ran a hand over his skin. “Permanent marker,” he said. His breath didn’t hitch but there was a rush in his movements as he looked over his shoulder. “I can’t wash it off. I tried.”  
Lazard pushed himself out of the chair.  
"In six hours I will have to report in for my check-up." Sephiroth said.  
"You can’t go to the labs like this," Lazard said. He reached out, then at the last moment, his fingers curled. "May I?"  
"Mm."  
One white glove was stripped off. He ran his hand over Sephiroth’s shoulder blades. At his touch, the muscles shifted under the skin. He arched his back and he stiffened.  
"Relax," Lazard whispered to the taller man.  
It had the opposite effect.   
Lazard licked his thumb, then rubbed it over the ink. It didn’t fade, didn’t even smudge. ”We’ll have to use cleaning solvent for this.”  
\- “Will that make it vanish?”  
\- “It is called solvent for a reason,” Lazard smirked and stepped past him. “I’ll be get some from two floors down. I’ll be right back. Wait here.”  
Sephiroth watched him go. He remained still, just turned his head to read the titles of the folders that were staked on the shelves of the walls. Pre-biological, Pre-experimental, Pre-sident, Se-lf improvement, Se-phiroth. _Sephiroth._  
He had a folder for himself. Multiple folders, now he paid attention to it. The fifth and most recent one seemed to have ragged edges of use, and was free of dust. All folders with his name were free of dust. That was good - it probably meant he worked hard, didn’t it? He stood around a little longer, fingers itching to intrude, but not moving because he had been ordered not to do so. He turned back to the door when he heard footsteps, and hesitantly replied to Lazard’s smile with one of his own.   
"Thank you for waiting. Now…" Lazard put the bottle of cleaning solvent on his desk and screwed the lit off. He put some of the cloth, then beckoned Sephiroth. The liquid was cold on his skin.  
"Don’t move."  
"It’s cold."  
"You travelled to Modeoheim shirtless, you can handle this." Lazard started rubbing more intensely, like how a mother would rub away toothpaste from the mouth of a child. It didn’t work. "Hold still."   
"It’s still cold."  
"It’s not coming off so well." There was only one smudge.  
"It has to come off."  
"I know, Sephiroth. It will. Don’t worry." The silver hair was getting in the way again, and the tower of a man wouldn’t stand still enough even though he provided pressure in the opposite direction. "Could you put your hands on the desk?"  
Sephiroth complied. He grabbed the edge of the oval-shaped desk and his shoulder blades protruded though his skin like that of a walking lion. Lazard shook his head. “Just lay down.”  
The General of SOLDIER stood with his legs apart so he could lay over the desk without having to to through his knees. He brushed a pen away, and in the same motion he knocked over a stack of folders. It crashed to the floor. Some notes flew up.  
"Careful," Lazard sneered. "Now bend over." He grabbed the base of Sephiroth’s neck and pushed the large warrior over his desk. When the bare chest connected to the cold surface, he didn’t allow his subordinate to move away. Sephiroth made a little noise of protest against the hand keeping him down. He reached up and Lazard’s grip tightened the second before the cold cloth touched the small of his back.  
Sephiroth hissed out.  
"Do you want your back clean or not?"  
The man on bottom rocked his hips against Lazard’s crotch as he brushed his own silver hair away from his back.   
\- “Is it coming off?”  
\- “Bit by bit.”  
\- “Good. I don’t care if it takes an hour, it must come off.”  
\- “It might take all night.”  
"…then rub harder," he mumbled.  
"What was that?" Lazard said. He put one hand on the man’s hip and leaned forward to listen.  
” _Harder!_ "  


End file.
